Put That Magic Trump On Me
by telcontarian
Summary: Sequel to Trump Magic Trump. With the prospect of Brexit looming, Sarah enlists the help of her old friends to help solve the problem.


**Put That Magic Trump on Me**

**By Tari**

**This fic is brought to you by dihydrocodeine and insomnia. 10/10 would not recommend.**

**This is the sequel to Trump Magic Trump which can be found here: s/13385380/1/Trump-Magic-Trump It is highly recommended that you read this fic first.**

**Warning: this fic contains pure crack and politician bashing. Please do not read if this is not your cup of tea.**

**This plot was inspired by the guys and gals over at LFFL when we were chatting about massages leading to more pleasurable activities. And a nod to ViciouslyWitty without whom Jareth would actually get laid.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Labyrinth. I suppose I own Harvey Wallbanger but I really don't want him**

* * *

Tracing her fingers in intricate patterns on the bar, Sarah Williams groaned in frustration as she found herself in yet another politically induced shit fest. In her left hand, she clutched a bottle of beer as if it were a lifeline, while her right hand was busy creating a fucking Labyrinth in amongst the beer swills, peanut shells and god knows what else had fallen out of the mouths of many hungry, thirsty patrons. Swearing under her breath, Sarah scrubbed away the maze, wincing as her hand was now covered in enough bacteria that would fuel a scientist's wet dream. Grimacing, Sarah wiped her hand on her jeans before taking another large swig of beer.

Following the absolute disaster of wishing away the President of the United States of America to the bloody Goblin King and suffering from the mother of all hangovers, Sarah had very quickly booked herself a one-way ticket to the farthest away country that she could think of before the FBI broke down her front door. Scotland. Wincing as she remembered the confused faces of her father, Karen and Toby waving her goodbye at the airport, the adults muttering to themselves about the possibility of a quarter life crisis and wondering whether or not it was too late to find her a good therapist. And so, Sarah boarded the plane and found herself in the most beautiful country in the world that, up until that moment, had barely given two shits about politics.

Unless you counted the failed bid for Independence in 2014, which Sarah had very quickly learned not to talk about unless she wanted a four-hour lecture on the Jacobite Uprising of 1745 or worse, an all-out bar brawl.

No, up until now, Sarah had spent the last three years wandering dreamily under the spires of Glasgow University or exploring the wild, rugged and beautiful terrain of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. All except Skye because fuck that. Sarah had not plucked up the courage to explore the Fairy Pools of Skye for fear of a pissed-off, blue-balled Fae who may or may not be waiting there for her. And certainly did not stuff socks down the front of his trousers.

Even in her alcohol induced haze, Sarah felt her face grow hot as she remembered her last embarrassing encounter that she had shared with Jareth, the Goblin King pressing her against the kitchen sink, the crystal ball between them shimmering with the unspoken promise of her deepest, darkest desires. Sarah had only to reach out and caress the glass surface of the rounded orb with her fingertips and all of her wishes would be fulfilled…

Until her stomach chose at that precise moment to violently protest the bottle of wine that she had consumed on an empty stomach and vomited all over Jareth's boots.

Cringing at that particular memory, Sarah raised her eyes once more to the large, wall-mounted television, pricking up her ears as she listened to the latest drivel concerning Brexit. Her lip curled in distaste, Sarah forced herself to listen to the latest deluded ramblings of the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, groaning as she once again heard him proclaim that 'Brexit means Brexit'. Scoffing, Sarah raised the bottle of beer to her lips once more, taking a long, soothing draft. "Harvey Wallbanger would get a kick out of this," she muttered darkly.

With a loud farting noise that did not entirely sound out of place in the pub, the former President of the United States turned goblin appeared before her, sitting calmly on the bar, his little hairy legs swinging comically over the edge. The newly Christened Harvey Wallbanger eyed Sarah with distrust, somehow still wearing the iconic blonde wig which Sarah was now almost certain had to be a Horcrux. "Wow, speak his name and the devil appears."

"In the name of the wee man, what is that thing?"

Sarah froze as the barman eyed the small goblin perched on the bar as he helped himself to the discarded peanut shells, his small, beady eyes glued to the television screen. Sarah wondered briefly if she should just let the barman think that he was having a nervous breakdown before putting him out of his misery. "Don't worry, I can see him too," she said soothingly.

The barman shrugged, pouring himself and Sarah a shot of tequila and toasting their lack of sanity before pushing a bowl of peanuts towards Harvey Wallbanger. "Not the strangest thing that I've seen on a Friday night," he replied, rubbing his eyes with tiredness and wondering for the fifth time that day whether or not he should have pursued that law degree.

"So, what are you doing here, Mr President?" asked Sarah fondly.

Harvey Wallbanger managed to tear his eyes away from the television with some effort, his arm suspended in mid-air, the fistful of peanuts momentarily forgotten. "Boris friend," he grunted.

Sarah snorted into her drink. "Pull the other one, it has bells on. The last time that you called someone a friend, you and Putin tried to start World War 3."

"Accident."

Sarah shook her head, a smile tugging on her lips as she raised her eyes to the television set, noticing for the first time the similarities between the former President and current Prime Minister. Mainly the wig and the amount of bullshit that they both talked. She frowned, straining to hear the Prime Minister's speech over the general humdrum of the pub.

"_Tonight, we are leaving the European Union. For many people this is an astonishing moment of hope, a moment they thought would never come. And there are many of course who feel a sense of anxiety and loss…"_

To her right, a drunken patron swore loudly at the television. "Anxiety and loss, my arse. We wouldn't even be in this mess if you hadn't become Prime Minister."

Sarah snorted. "Maybe I should have wished away the Prime Minister as well, then we wouldn't need to deal with this whole Brexit bollocks."

Sarah took another large gulp of her drink, feeling pleasantly tipsy. "What a bell-end," she whispered to Harvey Wallbanger conspiratorially, gesturing angrily at the television as the Prime Minister continued his Brexit spiel. "He's probably the kind of sick bastard who adds milk first when making a cup of tea."

"Really, Precious," replied a silken, all too familiar voice that made Sarah shriek and spill half of her drink down her blouse. "He would have to be truly diabolical indeed."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" asked Sarah cursing under her breath as she scrubbed furiously at the stain on her once pristine, white blouse. She blinked, realising that she had asked the exact same question at their last meeting.

"Careful, Sarah, no swearing in front of the children," Jareth replied with a frown, indicating Harvey Wallbanger who was absorbing their conversation like a sponge. "Mummy and daddy are talking," he said gently to the little goblin, "If you're good I'll let you build a wall around the Bog of Eternal Stench. For your information, Sarah-mine, I've come to collect my wayward charge. Unfortunately, the little bugger has started taking an interest in politics again." He gestured angrily towards the television where an enraptured Harvey Wallbanger continued to watch the Prime Minister address the nation with his utter bullshit. Jareth's lip curled in distaste as he took in their current surroundings before perching awkwardly on the bar stool beside Sarah, conjuring a handkerchief out of the ether and wiping down the bar in front of him with a look of disgust.

"Are you a magician, pal?" asked the bartender, a look of confusion on his face as he eyed his newest patron warily, "You're sure dressed like one." Sarah felt sorry for him, wondering how much more he could take before he cracked like a teapot.

Jareth frowned, regarding the bartender coldly before drawing himself up to his full height, the air around him crackling with anger and electricity. "I am Jareth, King of the Goblins, Lord of the Labyrinth and Protector of the Realm."

"Aye, and I'm Mary Queen of Scots. What will it be, Your Majesty?"

"Your finest whisky, barkeep, neat. And another round for the lady. So, about wishing away the Prime Minister…"

Sarah frowned, groaning as she recalled her earlier words. "He's a bloody tosser," she replied miserably, nodding at the barman as he slipped another beer in front of her. "The EU has protected Britain for nearly fifty years and now we are being forced out, despite half of the country voting against it. Scotland voted to Remain in the EU and yet we are being dragged out against our will. It's not fair."

Jareth's lips twitched in amusement. "Wishing him away would solve your current predicament," he said helpfully, taking a sip of his whisky as he eyed the dejected girl. "Surely he would make a better goblin than a human. And Harvey Wallbanger would be glad of the company."

At this, Harvey Wallbanger turned towards his monarch, nodding eagerly. "Boris friend."

"What say you, Sarah?" asked Jareth, summoning a crystal ball and juggling the orb gracefully on his fingertips. "You would be single-handedly saving the United Kingdom from a truly horrific fate with no bloodshed involved."

Against her better judgement, Sarah nodded, downing her pint in several long gulps as she gathered her liquid courage. "I've already wished away one politician," she slurred, replacing her glass on the bar with a loud clink, "I guess one more couldn't hurt. I wish the goblins would come and take the Prime Minister away right now."

Jareth smirked, his pointed canines on display as the crystal ball disappeared into the ether with a quiet pop. He gestured towards the television screen where the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom had vanished into thin air, leaving sheer bloody chaos in his wake. "Will you run the Labyrinth for him, Sarah?"

"Fuck no."

"Harvey, could you check on our newest acquisition? He may be confused and in need of misguidance."

Harvey Wallbanger nodded, disappearing from the Aboveground with a loud fart.

Jareth clapped his gloved hands together before rising from the barstool and offering Sarah a hand. "The night is young, Sarah-mine. Where shall we go on this fine evening?"

Sarah frowned, taking Jareth's hand and stumbling a little as she realised that she was more intoxicated than she thought. Jareth looped Sarah's hand through his arm, resting her fingers on the crook of his elbow before giving her hand a reassuring pat. "I don't know about you, but I could use some food."

"A fine idea."

Once outside, Sarah gulped in mouthfuls of fresh air feeling her head start to clear. Arm in arm with the Goblin King, the unlikely pair strolled leisurely down the street in search of food, attempting to avoid the rowdier revellers.

"Hey, Tina Turner, Halloween ended three months ago!"

Sarah tugged Jareth away before he could bog anyone. "I've started wars for less," he growled.

"My feet are killing me!" Sarah moaned, leaning one hand on Jareth's shoulder while she slipped her heels off.

"I could give you a foot massage," replied Jareth with a leer, his gloved fingers smoothing over the skin of Sarah's arm with the promise of what sexual delights would follow after.

Sarah laughed, pulling Jareth into the nearest chip shop and ordering a bag of chips and a deep-fried Mars Bar apiece from the counter staff. "Remind me to introduce you to my friend Cat. She would love to get her hands on you. There's a reason we call her Captain Cockblocker," she said, accepting their meals with a thank you before handing Jareth his portion.

"What is this devilry?" asked Jareth frowning, holding the battered chocolate bar gingerly in his gloved hand. "Why must the bloody Scots deep fry everything?"

Sarah rolled her eyes, moaning softly as she finished the last of her chips and bit into the sweet and savoury treat. "Trust me Jareth, you'll love it. It's better than sex."

Jareth scoffed. "I highly doubt it, Precious, you have yet to spend the night in my bed."

Jareth bit tentatively into the deep-fried Mars Bar, his eyes gleaming with delight as the sugar coated his tongue. "I stand corrected."


End file.
